


Living for Real

by LordNorth



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst, Comnor just has a lot of issues okay?, Distorted Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, toxic masculinity, treebros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-09 07:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11099517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordNorth/pseuds/LordNorth
Summary: So what if he gets a little angry sometimes? Everyone gets a little angry sometimes. ... Ok, so maybe he gets angrier than most, especially at himself, but that doesn't mean Connor Murphy belongs in a psych ward. That's for crazy people.Connor survived, and it's a long journey from there. A mental hospital AU vaguely based off of the novel/film, "It's Kind of a Funny Story".





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter features a fairly graphic depiction of a suicide attempt including dissociation and referenced substance abuse. Connor's thinking in this chapter is distorted and not healthy. Read at your own discretion.

> "Dear Everyone, especially those who have fucked me over time and time again:
> 
> Do you know how hard to talk and play nice when all you want to do is scream and fight and tear apart your own skin until you've clawed your nails into your own bones? None of you understand. You only think you do. You all wrote me off the moment you laid eyes on me. I embraced it too. Call me insane? Yeah, I fucking relished that shit and wore it like a mink coat. Here's the catch though: I am tired of feeling insane.
> 
> I'm sure most of you will say you saw this coming. This town's very own self-fulfilling prophecy: the boy who threw a printer at a teacher in second grade all grown up and shooting-up the school. Well, I'll be shooting up, that's for sure, but not bullets towards you. 
> 
> I applaud you all for pretending to care. I hope you all can join me in h-"

Connor crumples up the letter and chucks it into the wastebasket with enough force to knock the bin over. He wants it all to stop. To just stop for one small moment. Nothing does not though. It is like the record of "Connor, you're a fucking disgrace. Connor, you deserve to die. Connor, no one would notice if you disappeared. Connor, everyone would be happy if you disappeared. Connor, you should kill yourself..." got left on in his head and he cannot figure out how to turn it off. All he feels is hurt and numb at the same time. His face feels like it is on fire, engorged and gross. Everything else feels distant, unattached, floating. If it weren't for his stupid face he's be just fine. God, is he crying? Perfect, he's even more of a mess than he thought. He thinks he can feel his body slump down to the floor, until his back is lightly pressed against his bed. 

"Yeah, I'm sure dad would love to see me now, “he says out loud with a strained voice, soft and for no one in particular. "I bet he would just love his faggot son to be even more of a disappointment. What he always wanted." Connor chuckles lightly between garbled sobs. 

He should have never tried going to school today. He should have skipped the first day and just stayed high all day like he had planned. Instead, the day had gone from awful to worse the moment he stepped into that fucking building and ran into that asshole Jared Kleinman. What a fucking cunt. 

He rests his head on his knees, pulling his whole body inward. His veins itch. He needs to do something, anything. Time passes slowly, warped. Has he been scratching at his arms this whole time? He brings his nails to his face. He supposes the red is blood, probably his own, but he cannot bring himself to care. Everything is hazy and undefined. Everything is buzzing. 

A glance towards the clock reveals it is 3:26 A.M. Huh, he was pretty sure it was 10 P.M. a second ago. Everything is still buzzing, it is just buzzing louder and louder. 

His body is moving on autopilot, and the latest command is moving towards the bathroom he shares with Zoe.  
Bathrooms are usually his sanctuaries in public, a place to disappear to when everything gets to be too much. He hopes it will help this time. He does not think it will. It smells like Zoe though. Zoe is always good and lovely. Zoe does not deserve to deal with him. Zoe never deserved to be yelled at, threatened with her own life. Zoe is too good for him. Connor looks in the mirror. He looks so normal, even with his arms and face red and angry. He watches as another tear slowly falls down his puffy, distorted face. He is not normal though. He is a monster that destroys and corrupts everything good in the world. He slams his fist into the mirror, shattering his reflection into a thousand pieces. He smiles when he sees blood dripping down between his reflection's teeth. There. Now the outsides match the insides. He feels his knees sway, threatening to buckle in agony. 

This is why he wants to die, but not why he is depressed. And - oh - how light he feels when he finally admits he wants to die. Everything would be better if he was dead. His sister wouldn't have to deal with his moods, he would no longer be a disappointment to his dad, his mother would be able to work on a more productive project, and everyone at school could breathe easy knowing they weren't looking at a burgeoning school shooter. Anyone would do the same in his position. He is the freak who smokes too much, and has been taking pills for freaking out too much over people and things since he was eight. That teacher deserved that printer being destroyed anyways. She was always bitching about how much of a problem student he was. 

Huh, he's still standing in the bathroom. His heart is ramming now. It is beating all over the place. The echoes of its beats affecting every spot in his body. It is all buzzing. The blood pressure pounds from his skull down towards his toes.

Finally moving his feet, he shuffles to the cabinet where he usually hides his harder drugs and alcohol. Opening it up, he's surprised to find it completely empty, minus a small note card. He made be completely fucked up, but he's not that high. He picks up the card to look at it closer. 

> "Connor, found your stuff before dad or mom did and threw it all out. You owe me. Call Dr. Morton before you get us both in trouble again.
> 
> \- Zoe."

Connor let's out a snarl before crumpling the card stock up and throwing it to the ground. He grounds it into the tile with his foot for good measure. His heart is beating do fast. He has never felt more alive than right now in this moment. Connor wants to fight. He wants to die. He just needs to do something, anything to keep this feeling going.

He grabs his shaving razor from the counter-top, and everything clicks into place for just a moment. The razor feels so light, yet so powerful in his hands.

Before he can process what he is doing, he lets out a heady moan in relief. His world is spinning, slowly fading. He smiles as he grabs his phone from his pocket, playing with the cold, metallic casing. The bite of metal edges feels absolutely celestial against boiling skin. Everything is buzzing, just lighter now. His hands are weirdly vibrating though. He thinks of his sister's note as he checks the time. 

Huh, a few more hours have passed. Dr. Morton's office should be open by now. He thinks he feels his fingers press a familiar number into the screen.

"911? What's your emergency?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking." Connor lets loose a strained series of giggles. What a bizarre thing for Dr. Morton's office to say. Unless he accidentally called the police instead of Dr. Morton? Huh, what a funny mistake.

Before the voice on other side can say anything, he slurs out, "Everything's s u p e r fine. I'm dying. It's wonder-wonderful. I think I got blood on my phone. I should clean that up. I'm going to go clean that up. Have a good day." Connor smiles politely before hanging up on the strange voice. See? He can play nice.

He doesn't remember passing out, just the dreamlike screams and sobs of familiar voices that disturb him from his bliss and the sensation of being carried away.


	2. Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wakes up. He's pretty sure this was his first bad decision of the day.

It starts with haze. Just a vague feeling of being aware of being aware. Low chatter permeates the air here and there, beeps and clicks of instruments filling in the gaps. None of it really draws him into the present. It all still seems so distant and unreal, like a film he's somehow a part of yet cannot place his role. Connor owlishly blinks, eyelids slowly fluttering. He can barely focus on the fuzzy outline of two people in the room. They seem familiar, but everything in the room is just so, so, indefinitely bright. He blinks and blinks, trying to focus, but it is too much effort. Instead, he lets the warm hum of the machines around him lull him back to sweet comfort of sleep like a siren to men at sea. For a moment, everything is serene, peaceful, undisturbed.

The next time he wakes up, his stirrings could not be more different. Reality comes crashing in like a light switch or a break in a dam. One second, he is blissful in ignorance. The next, he is completely cognizant of who he is, where he is, and what he has done. Most importantly, he knows who is sitting in the small hospital room waiting for him to wake up for more than a few seconds. It would be so much easier if he could go back to sleep, go back to an existence where he did not have to face their disappointment. If not their disappointment, he will definitely be facing their judgement or wrath. He will have to own up to what he's done, apologize for the things that feel so far beyond his control. 

He’s pretty sure waking up would be his first bad decision of the day. Maybe he could just pretend to be asleep until they leave?

Connor sneezes, his whole body unexpectedly seizing up in conjunction with the noise. Well, so much for that plan. His mom and father are definitely aware he's awake now.

Opening his eyes, he quickly turns his head away from the overbearing figures of his mom and father. He doesn't dare look at them right now. He did not expect it to hurt so much to look at them. Instead, he stares at his body, surreally draped across a hospital bed and connected to so many different machines. He looks ... healthier? His arms sting. The place where the IV meets his right arm itches in discomfort, briefly pulling at his attention. It hurts like a bruise is forming at the crook of his elbow, hidden away by bandages keeping the IV line in place. His left arm is bandaged up for an entirely different reason, burning in guilty agony. "How long have you been here?" Connor eventually ventures, voice harsh from disuse.

Unsurprisingly, his mom is the one who answers. "Almost a day,” she responds, voice wavering. Connor's pretty sure if he were to look her way, she would start crying. "You had us all so worried, Connor. The doctors - well, the doctors are frankly surprised you survived. You slept for so long, Connor. They were afraid you weren't going to make it. I thought - I thought - "

Whatever Cynthia Murphy was trying to force out is swiftly cut off by Larry’s sharp tone, "What were you thinking? I hope whatever drug-filled pity party you were having was worth it. You could have died! Do you know what that would have done to us? What it would have do one to your mom?" Larry yells, voice only catching for the tiniest moment at the tail-end of his tirade. His father is practically loud enough for the entire floor to hear about their dysfunctional family meeting. 

Connor breathes out a short puff of air. "Well yeah, that was kind of the point," he bitterly says, sneering at his dad's typical response. The moment he says what he said, he only regrets how it sucks all the air out of the room. Everything suddenly feels too quiet, too small. Their heavy eyes are gazing upon on him now, piercing him, and searching for answers as to where they went wrong with him. He wants to move. He doesn't know when he started subtlety grinding his teeth, but he supposed it is about the same time his mom starts sobbing again. Realusing this, he stops the action at once. The hospital bed blanket serves as a perfectly good substitute to fidget with. He'd normally pick at his nail polish, but he doesn't have the energy nor want to fight that particular battle with his father today.

Cynthia is the one to break the silence. She nervously starts chattering through misty eyes about something banal, like how her yoga class is going to bring up his spirits. Connor's not really paying attention to her or anyone, just sort of lacklusterly drifting through the conversation. 

"Where's Zoe?" Connor asks, addressing the two in the room for the first time in minutes.

"On, uh, well, uh ... Zoe didn't want to come. She said, uh, she said that she doesn't like hospitals." his mom replies, looking askance as she does so. The forced happiness though, that is the biggest tell that she's lying. How nothing is alright.

"Oh, okay." Connor mutters. He really shouldn't be disappointed, by why is he so disappointed? It is not like Zoe would ever have showed up and pretended to be a lovingly supportive sister. That is just not how their relationship works. She hates him, and is probably only tolerating him until he is eighteen and inevitably gets kicked out by his parents. She hates him. He ... he ...

Wow, he didn't realize that the hospital blanket was so interesting. It's kind of thread-bare, but it is still nice. It's soft, warm, and a muddled grey color. Connor used to have one just like it when he was younger. Then his dad threw it out one day, saying it was getting to be too old and useless. What a dick. Connor really liked that blanket.

There's a light knock on the hospital room door, more of a courtesy than anything, and a woman in her fifties with bright red lipstick and a clip-board peaks in.

"Oh good! You're up! We were real worried about you, but I knew you would pull through. You're a fighter. I could tell." she says with a wink, walking into the already crowded room. Her smile beams while when saying this, reaching all the way up to her eyes. Honestly, it is the happiest anyone has looked at Connor in a very long time. Half of him wants to smile back, the other half wants to yell at her to stop pretending he's the type of person to be happy about. He hesitantly goes with the first choice with minimal enthusiasm.

"See! I knew it!" she exclaims. "I could tell there was a spark in you! Oh, where are my manners? I'm Dr. Okrand, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," she holds her hand out at this, and Connor is tempted to ignore it. He can feel his father’s gaze on him though, daring him to just try and defy social convention. Fine, he will try and play nice. This lady doesn’t seem to be too ill-willed anyways. He lightly shakes it, not looking her directly in the eye once. With his other hand, he quickly gives his dad the bird before anyone notices. At the sound of his father's inhale, he's pretty sure Larry got the message. Connor drops Dr. Okrand's hand once she starts reviewing over his chart. Glancing towards his father, he's completely smug in satisfaction upon seeing the veins popping on Larry's forehead. Perfect, he doesn't even have to fake the delighted smile this time around. 

His amusement is short-lived, however. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Connor asks, only hearing the very end of what Dr. Okrand was discussing with him, his mom, possibly both. Sitting up taller, he feels so lost. "You want me to transfer where?"

Dr. Okrand gives him a small smile while clutching her clip-board, before placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know it may seem scary, Connor, but I think staying at Horizons for a while would be a good opportunity for you. I called them while you were asleep, and they have a bed available for you. What do you think?"

"Oh, well, I don't know. Rehab certainly didn’t help me last time. Why would anything be different this time?" he replies with eyes drawn to the ground. Huh, his voice didn't sound so despondent in his head. Apparently, sarcasm is even failing him.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Connor, I really do. It's not shameful to need help, Connor. You're not weak. I can see that in you. I think you just need to find it in yourself, and Horizons could really help you see that. I have talked it over with your mom and dad, and they said the decision is up to you. So …" she pauses, eyes shining in hope, "what do you think?"

Connor picks at the blanket again. "What other options do I have?" Again, he was sure he didn’t sound so fucking pitiful in his head.

Dr. Okrand's smile fades as she glances at her watch. "Well, I can keep you here on watch for another 18 or so hours before sending you on your way," she pauses, catching Connor's eyes before speaking again. "But I think you and I both know that isn't really an option. Something needs to change, doesn't it?" The grit and empathy with which she says that last part is something Connor's never experienced directed towards him before. It's unnerving in every possible way. It's like a fire too close to your face, and he feels all but forced to turn away.

"Yeah. Fine. I'll go. Anything for dear old mom and dad." he snarks, brow furrowing in contempt, completely missing Dr. Okrand's sigh of relief.

"Oh, Connor!" his mom delightfully cries, rushing up from her chair to hug him tightly. She releases him from her arms when he flinches, pulling back only slightly. "This will be so good for you! Things will get better, I promise," she says, voice catching through tearful sobs. Connor looks at her, really looks at her for the first time since he's woken up. Her eyes are completely sunken-in, dark with sleep-deprivation and shiny where tears have left their mark. Her hair is a tangled mess of a pony-tail, greasy in the way it goes whenever she skips her coconut oil conditioning routine. Connor's pretty sure she's just wearing a hoodie over her pajamas with sneakers thrown-in for good measure. It paints a picture of a rushed, long night. The kind where you drink pots of coffee, not knowing when you'll next find sleep. Overall, it's not Cynthia Murphy's most glamourous look, but that's not the point is it? Connor eyes sting. He does not want to look at something so depressing any longer.

"Yeah, just don't expect any fucking miracles," he says, to no one and everyone at once. Not even his father’s upset demeanor could help Connor’s mood anymore.

With that, Dr. Okrand takes her leave with Larry in tow, hashing out the details outside the room. It sounds like it may be a bit of a wait before an ambulance can come and pick him up.

Connor stops paying attention, letting his focus drift away from anywhere except here. He lets out a sniffle, followed shortly by another one before he starts full-on sobbing quietly into his pillow. Curling up into himself, he clenches the pillow and lets out a muffled scream. He is all alone now, his mother having left sometime to keep up with the conversation happening outside.

Dr. Okrand is right. Something does have to change, and it's either his life or his life. All he can do is wait to find out which one it is going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spirit of Connor would like to add that this chapter is the saddest fucking thing he's ever heard. 
> 
> Anyways, congratulations to the cast & crew of DEH for all the Tony Awards nomsinations & wins! I'm so happy for everyone involved.
> 
> Sorry this took a while to get out, this chapter refused to be written for the longest time. It probably didn't help that I maaaaaaay have started writing a treebros one-shot on top of this. Something happy and silly to work on while dealing with the angst-fest that is this and my other DEH fic. Currently, I'm looking at writing about 18 chapters with this thing, which is way more than I've ever written before. The next chapter may take a bit, as I need to do a bit more research on both BPD and mental health practices first. Everything so far is just based on personal experience, which can only get you so far. 
> 
> So please let me know what you think? This is all pretty new territory for me.
> 
> UPDATE: 6/26/2017:  
> New chapters are being delayed a bit longer because I'm working on costume commissions for the summer convention season. I'm aiming to post a new one around July 6th. Thank you for understanding!

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I initially hesitated to post this, because suicide is a topic that both needs to be talked about to end the stigma while also being talked about in a delicate manner that does not affect people in a negative way. If I am being honest, this story is incredibly personal. I began writing this mainly to vent some of my own mental health issues and experiences, as well as to give Connor a happy ending wherein he survived a suicide attempt and gets better. It developed into an AU idea from there. I promise, the story will get less dark from here on out. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> And if you are ever feeling suicidal, it is never too late to reach out for help. You matter okay? The national suicide prevention hotline in the U.S. is 1-800-273-8255, and is available 24/7. The Trans Lifeline is 1-877-565-8860. You have so many other options beside suicide, and there are always people ready and willing to help. It is not embarrassing or weak to get help, and it is probably one of the strongest things you can ever do. You can do this.


End file.
